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‘‘It’s really hard and not just for old ladies,” she said.

Practice, practice

On a Saturday in late January, about a third of the Potomac Valley Pearls’ 30 members practiced at the Fairland Aquatics Center, the team’s home. The Pearls range in age from 8 to 18, and the team is the only one of its kind in Maryland, said Ginny Chadwick, the team’s coach for 14 years.

The practice is part swim meet, part dance class, part gymnastics. Small groups rehearsed on the side of the pool, pretending they were in the water. Some swam warm-up laps in the pool. Two swimmers popped above and below the surface of the water as a coach mimicked their moves on the pool deck. Speakers in and out of the pool played retro television commercial jingles, including one for Almond Joy candy bars:

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t...

Once the jingles ended, Ringel, an 18-year-old senior at Atholton High School, performed her solo routine, an underwater dance of kicks, jumps and hand movements set to tunes from the Jazz Age. Ringel has been with the Pearls for 11 years.

‘‘It’s like doing ballet and gymnastics, just while holding your breath,” she said.

On the pool deck, Susan Stavenhagen, a veteran coach and synchronized swimmer, worked with a group of 11- and 12-year-olds. Part of the difficulty of synchronized swimming is learning the routine out of the water and then learning it again in the water, she said. Her point was illustrated by her three swimmers: out of the water, the routine looked easy as the girls focused on the presentation; in the water, staying on beat and completing the moves took all of their effort.

‘‘Like skating, it looks graceful, but it’s graceful because you work hard,” said Stavenhagen, who has two daughters on the team.

How hard can it be?

I did not fully understand Stavenhagen’s comment until I actually got in the pool Saturday. The team was practicing in Landover because of a scheduling conflict at the Fairland Aquatics Center. I swam a warm-up lap in 13 feet of water and was ready, but before I could do my first move, Chadwick handed me a pair of goggles and nose plugs.

‘‘So you won’t get water in your nose when you go upside down,” she said about the nose plugs.

As I pondered why she said ‘‘when” I go upside down as opposed to ‘‘if” I go upside down, I met my teachers: Ringel, Laura Morris, 16; Leah Stavenhagen, 14; Stevia Morawski, 16; and Meggie Potter, 13. All of the girls had been swimming for at least three years, most five or more. They were joined in the pool by one of their coaches, Janet Gripshover, while Chadwick stood on the edge of the pool.

The plan was for me to watch a swimmer demonstrate a move and then try it. The swimmers all acted like the moves were second nature, which they were. Muscle memory helps during the routines, Ringel said.

‘‘You have to know it all, because when it’s time to do a move, it’s already passed if you’re thinking about it,” she said.

My first move was sculling, a basic position. Lying on my back, I moved my hands rapidly in a figure-eight motion close to my body to keep me afloat, toes pointed outward. Chadwick said hands act as paddles in synchronized swimming; I must have warped ones, because I sank after only a few seconds.

I bobbed in the water, ready for my next instructions, when Chadwick noticed I was treading incorrectly. Synchronized swimmers tread using an ‘‘egg beater” motion, legs wider than the shoulders and moving in a circular motion at the knee. This method supposedly uses less energy than the scissors kicks I had been employing, but I was tiring just the same.

The next move was called the ‘‘ballet leg.” From the sculling position, I brought my right knee up toward my head, then kicked it straight up in the air, toes pointed out. As I focused on my leg, I forgot to keep paddling with my arms. As I sank, I must have looked like a sinking ship with only its observation tower above the surface. But when I emerged from the water, I heard cheers and applause for my ballet leg.

I would have basked in the compliments, but I got tired from treading. To ensure I did not drown, Chadwick threw me two empty plastic jugs with handles on the end, an adult version of water wings. The jugs are used so swimmers can work on their moves without worrying about sinking. I used them to nail my next ballet leg.

But it was downhill from there. The next move was an ‘‘oyster,” where I was supposed to bring my arms and legs upward to meet over my stomach as I sank. In reality, my arms went straight up in the air while my legs bent at the knees as I submerged. And let’s not even talk about where my toes were.

After failing miserably at the ‘‘porpoise,” an upside-down move with feet straight in the air, I grabbed the side of the pool. I was exhausted after 30 minutes.

Getting a push to the top

But I was not finished. The five swimmers then used Chadwick’s 11-year-old daughter, Denise, to demonstrate lifts and throws, all done without anyone touching the pool bottom. After seeing three different lifts and being assured I would not hurt anyone, I took Denise’s place for a lift known as the platform.

In a platform, one swimmer — in this case, Ringel — lies horizontally underwater while four other swimmers act as her base. A sixth swimmer then crouches on the horizontal swimmer’s stomach and stands up as the group reaches the surface.

The team assembled faster than I expected, so I was slow getting to my position. The swimmers pushed me on top of Ringel as she held my feet in place. I rose from my crouch into a standing position as we reached the surface before toppling over. On a second attempt, however, I got in my position more quickly and had time to raise my hands in the air once I stood up on the surface. I splashed down into the water, ending my training.

For the girls, however, their real training was just beginning. They practiced their four-minute, competitive routine out of the water first.

I asked Morris and Ringel before they got back in the pool what hurts after practice. ‘‘Everything,” they both said.

Still, they swam their routine, set to jungle-themed music. Above the surface, the quintet was graceful, all pointed toes and calm, controlled movements. But below the surface, arms and legs churned as the team moved all across the pool. At least three times, the swimmers were headfirst in the water for extended lengths of time.

They practiced the routine in full and in parts for another half-hour, until it was time to leave. Chadwick said the group’s timing was off and the routine was not as crisp as it needs to be for an upcoming competition, but there was plenty of time to fix the problems.

As for me, Chadwick said I should consider joining a team for older synchronized swimmers. ‘‘There are masters teams you can try,” she said before I left.

Only if they need a ballet leg.